Vocab Lesson

Give-and-take is hard to learn, especially when you’re three years old and see life mostly through your own self-oriented lens.  But today my very young companion and I tackled the concept of deference.

“I have an important new word I’d like to teach you,” I said while driving down the road after our weekly story hour at the library.

“What is it?” she replied with genuine interest from her spot in the back seat.

“Defer.”

“Deee-fer?” She said the word carefully, as if rolling it around on her tongue and tasting it.

“Yes.  DEFER.”

“DEFUUUR,” she repeated.

“Want to know what it means?”

“Yes.  I do.”

“Well, to defer means to let go of something you want when you know someone else wants the same thing.  Like today at story hour when Harper wanted the stuffed Grinch toy to sit next to her on the floor, and you wanted him to sit next to you in a chair.  Remember?  I asked you to not fight about it, but to let her have him this time.” I watched her face in the rear-view mirror.

“Oh.”  The sober reply came as a whisper.

“But it works both ways,” I continued, “because at snack time when you wanted the one-and-only foil juice pouch, both Harper and Sydney happily agreed to be satisfied the other option - smaller, less-fun-looking juice boxes - and didn't argue with you.”

“Yeah.”  Another whisper.

Once we arrived home I offered to read library books we’d checked out. “Pick out a book while I put my coat away, okay?”

When I reappeared from the closet, she said, “I want the one with the picture of the baby lamb and the little boy on the front.”

“Okay!  But wait, I’ll be right back – I forgot I need to check something first.”

She was sitting on the couch when I returned, and the books were spread out on the chest we use as a coffee table. I sat down next to her, ready to read the book she’d suggested. 

“No, no,” she insisted when I reached for it.  “NO! I defer to you, Nana.  You pick which book we read first.  I want you to choose.”  This was said softly, but with a sparkle in her eye as if she knew full well what she was doing.

“OH!  How WONDERFUL!  Thank you!  And you know what? I feel like you really love me when you defer to me!” I exclaimed. 

“I DO love you,” she replied, wiggling her whole body.  "I DO!"

As I reached for my choice of book, which was intentionally different from hers, I thought it truly WAS wonderful – an early step into a relational arena where deference will only become more and more necessary, but also more and more rewarding as she grows to learn the depth and breadth (and reward) of love laced with self-sacrifice.

The Whole Story

Our BSF class is huge – over 400 women – and yet at our regularly scheduled meeting this morning various friends from last year’s discussion group kept seeking me out either before or after class with eager, expectant looks:  “Is the baby here yet?”  They’ve been praying with me all through my daughter’s pregnancy, and knew our new granddaughter is due to be delivered at MY house (with a midwife in attendance) in just TWO days.

Yes. Two.  Days. Although of course it might take longer, depending on the baby’s mood.

Several of these women asked me to email them once the baby arrives.  Almost all aaawed and gushed said, “it will be fine” and  “remember, I want to hear the WHOLE STORY!”  All were supportive and pledged to keep praying.

I did some Christmas shopping after class, and at one particular store purchased a few things for the new baby.  The clerk seemed a personable sort who was eager for conversation, although of course I’d never seen her before in my life.  She smiled and said, “Are you shopping for a little granddaughter?”

I said, “Yes, one that’s not here yet – one expected to be born at MY house.  And the due date is this THURSDAY!”

Her mouth flew open.  “You mean TWO DAYS from now?  At YOUR house?”

“Yes – you got it.”

She seemed incredulous.  “Did your daughter have to talk you into that arrangement?”

“Oh no, I’m a pushover when it comes to family.  Besides…I think it a privilege.  A little bit of a spooky privilege, but still a privilege.”

Her eyes widened.  “I don’t think my mother would have agreed to that.”

“It’s an honor.  I am blessed.”

She stood there staring at my soft pink Laura Ashley Plush Baby Blanket, and her fingers did a little nervous dance on the fleece.  “Well, I expect you to come back in here afterwards and tell me the WHOLE STORY – okay?”

I laughed.  “Sure – you and a bunch of other people.”

“Don’t forget me!” she called as I headed for the door.

After shopping, I stopped by a friend’s house on the way home for a cup of tea.  We hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks, and had a lot of catching up to do.  “The baby’s due in just TWO DAYS,” I reminded her while dunking my tea bag up and down. 

She smiled her a knowing smile, as if to wordlessly say I-get-the-whole-picture-here-and-I’m-with-you-all-the-way.  I wasn’t surprised when she responded with, “I’ll be waiting to hear the WHOLE STORY…”

Connecting-the-Hope-Dots

I love the concept of connect-the-dot pictures with their step-by-step evolution of a shape.  Sometimes intangible-but-critical-spiritual-dots also come together to fashion an inspiring image of emerging wholeness and hopefulness.  Here are some recent dots:

Want to be blessed?  Be a blessing to someone else. 

Want to be hopeful?  BECOME HOPE to someone else. 

Give until it hurts. 

Turn from stubbornness, pride, and conceit. 

Rest from self-effort, even in the mist of creativity.

Rest from distractions, even in the midst of the unexpected.

Rest in God’s purpose, because human vision inevitably seems to fade.

Believe Him, trust Him, have faith in His faithfulness.

Ask Him to instruct in prayer, belief, hope, suffering, forgiveness, and love.

I’ve heard there are natural 7-year cycles to life, and that we all can expect a shift approximately every 7 years.  If this is true, I’m heading into the 9^th such cycle, and am sensing the inherent changes in big ways.  Following are some more dots:

I love the Lord.

I love regenerative time spent with Him, and want to cultivate more.

I love to worship Him, and want to worship more.

I love people.

I love being in relationship with them.

I love quiet moments alone with my inner self.

I love personal pursuits in those quiet moments. 

The more I give myself away (to all of the above loves), the more I have.

Going through the motions is a waste of time.

My own wishing and longing is fleeting and ultimately unsatisfying.

God’s hope anchors me on the high seas of desire.

“We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.”  Hebrews 6:19

Abduction and Adoption

The following is a somewhat-true story…

My twin sister and I were born in a dilapidated house with barren-looking siding and a swayback roof.  Missing shingles invited both sun and rain to bathe the back porch, while a blue tarp – an attempted patch – blew in the breeze.  Granted, this wasn’t much of a place, but it was home.

As young teens, one afternoon we were unexpectedly wrestled into tight, burlap-like bags that were then thrown into a rattly-sounding pick-up truck.  When the truck finally stopped, its creaky door popped, groaned, and finally opened – and a deep male voice commanded,  “Now GIT!”   We were tossed into the ditch where we crouched and hid amidst tall, dry grasses as the truck drove away.

Where were we? Would we be able to find shelter for the night?  The sky seemed especially threatening, as if a storm might be brewing.

“C’mon,” I said to my sister, jumping back onto the road.  “We’ve got to start walking!"

She followed, and we trotted off toward an imposing-looking house where we found easy access to the interior.  We were wandering through this mansion-of-a-new-home just as rain began pelting its windows.

That was many weeks ago.  We’ve taken up residence there, having been warmly greeted by the builder of this brand new home and adopted by his clients, the eventual residents.  We are well fed and have been taken to the vet for check-ups.   Sometimes playmates (children aged 18 months through 7 ½) show up to affectionately treat us like favored stuffed animals that have come to life – oh, how we do LOVE those kids!  We feel blessed beyond measure, as if this new life opened up to all of us in some unexpected and yet perfectly natural way.

Some people say this must be our destiny.  I say, life can sure be surprising when it lets the cat out of the bag.

__________________________

(Note:  The above is a story to honor two teenaged, gold-and-white stray cats that showed up at acreage owned by our son and daughter-in-law where their new house is currently being built.  The attractive, very personable cats adopted the house as their permanent residence, and so within a couple of weeks our son and his family adopted them right back!  Yesterday we spent the afternoon with them there, and various small children dragged the cats around like rag dolls without even a hint of wiggly protest or hissing.  They promise to be an added attraction when the family moves in, presumably next spring or early summer.)

Life

A simple but profound reality hit me late tonight as I finished watching “Snoopy Come Home” from my snuggly spot on the futon in front of the TV:  what we glibly call life is a gift comprised of small but unique moments that shape our hours, days, and years.  Small incidents + small graces = life.

Examples from today….

Waking early this morning to the sound of granddaughters’ energetic little feet pit-pattering through the house.  Chatting with Mike, a previously unknown but personable deer hunter, at the lake’s public access.  Opening the creaky mailbox door to discover a small thank-you note waiting for discovery amidst a wad of junk mail.  Napping Rip-Van-Winkle-style for 4 ½ hours that seemed more like 4 ½ years!  Sitting submerged in the hot tub’s bubbly womb while a wintry wind tousled my hair and prickled my cheeks.  Savoring the tang of cranberry sauce with leftover turkey.

Knowing difficulty is inevitable.  Forgiving mistakes.  Managing disappointments. Choosing hope. Releasing discouragement.  Cultivating patience.  Accepting the worst while expecting the best.  

Heading to bed.  Anticipating tomorrow. Thanking God for all the isolated-but-intertwined moments of the day that mysteriously but surely factor into His redemption of the world, and asking for His continued guidance.

Thanksgiving Report

Today Bertha was introduced to the little Cornish Game Hen, whom I’m naming Agnes, for the first and last time. They met in our kitchen, were bosom buddies for about fifteen minutes, and then separated to pursue their separate destinies. (Note: For an explanation of Bertha as the name for our Thanksgiving turkey, and the reason for the smaller additional hen, see the blog for Tuesday, Nov. 22^nd.) 

It was a fleeting meeting of camaraderie as both girls (ahem, birds) were cleaned and dried.

For a few seconds they sat on the counter, stuffed with dressing and prepared for roasting….and eventual consumption.

Agnes (I actually prefer Aggie) was done in a little over an hour, and became the focus of the grandkids’ lunch.

Bertha took 4 ½ hours to bake, and unfortunately we didn’t take a picture until she was well-picked-over and ready for the soup pot.

All-in-all it was an outstanding day.  Grampa told a story of the first Thanksgiving, while a captivated listener sat on his lap.  (Later, while watching Charlie Brown Thanksgiving specials in the evening, this same listener remembered his story and linked it to the animated one on TV.)

Our turkey hat-making project was a big hit.

There were smiles all day, evidence of happy, grateful hearts....

Oxymoronic Morning

Today a Facebook friend named Glenn posted, “It’s an oxymoronic morning!”

I thought, “Huh?  Wha--?”  Of course I caught the reference to oxymorons – figures of speech that combine contradictory terms - and yet hadn’t heard oxymoronic used as an adjective.

He then listed these oxymorons:

fine mess

new classic


abundant poverty


act naturally



almost candid


alone together


apathetic interest


arrogant humility

Well alright then, I thought, just exactly how does one have an oxymoronic morning?  I guess when a day seems extremely average at the onset…complete with non-dairy creamer in your coffee and an organized mess of precious junk that requires a quick fix before Thanksgiving food preparations can begin.

Wondering if anyone else besides Glenn is having an oxymoronic morning?

Bertha the Big Bird

I went shopping for the annual Big Bird today.  Not the fluffy yellow Sesame Street Bird with bugged-out eyes, of course, but a real-frozen-solid-meaty-bird to stuff with sage dressing and serve with mashed potatoes and gravy for Thanksgiving

In general, turkeys don’t excite me.  I enjoy eating the flesh (especially dark meat), but also shudder when I think that every turkey carcass in mainstream groceries has been injected with a tasty-but-mysterious “broth” laced with test-tube-additives.  Even before this, the living gobblers are pumped full of excessive growth hormones because they must grow disproportionately BIG (it’s the American way) and FAST (we’re impatient and want a cheap bird).  They are also shot-up with antibiotics in order for them to survive the sometimes-deplorable conditions of turkey farms.  Sounds like a fowl-ed up chemical brew to me!

On the other hand, unadulterated, chemical-free, organic turkeys exist (somewhere, but not in the grocery store) for around $8.00/pound, which I refuse to pay until some future date when I am a rich and famous author basking in excessive book royalties.  

So anyway, there I was this afternoon, standing in the meat section before two enormous freezer-bins of rock-hard turkeys prettily shrink-wrapped in plastic. To be (a Butterball), or not to be (a Butterball), THAT was the question.

The turkeys looked like little frozen mummies in those tight wrappings, prepared to sit in their mass graves (freezer-tombs) indefinitely. I looked and looked, laboring over which of the stacked-up clones to choose.  Then in a second of rash impetuousness, I did the traditional patriotic American thing, put all thoughts of an organic bird out of my mind, and reached for….

Bertha.  I was just sure if this plastic-shrouded bird had been given a name (which it most certainly hadn’t), it would have been Bertha.

This Bertha-bird was a generic turkey (bye-bye Butterball, Bertha was cheaper), one somewhat smaller than my turkeys of recent years.  Due to an ever-enlarging family, I’d gotten into the habit of choosing a mammoth turkey between 22 and 25 lbs.  This year I settled for a 15-pounder.  Bertha is still an imposing size, but a baby-hippo-of-a-bird instead of a grandma-elephant-of-a-bird.

It's true that Bertha will still be much too big since our table will seat only four adults this year. But what’s Thanksgiving without the dramatic presentation of a crispy-brown Big Bird?  Plus Bertha’s carcass will simmer into broth that will become a big pot of incredibly delicious wild rice soup, which I confess is my favorite part of the turkey.  Mmmmmmmm, I can already imagine Bertha’s aromas filling every nook and cranny of the entire house with post-Thanksgiving turkey-smells. 

White Knuckle Zone

We managed to survive White Knuckle Zone (Chicago) today.  It is a place of mystery to me, where driving is serious business – hence our nickname pin-pointing a death-grip on the steering wheel.  Being a country girl, I’m always challenged by its wall-to-wall concrete, angular skyscrapers, perilous driving conditions, and SO MANY PEOPLE! 

Just before we left the Windy City, a deadpan-faced policeman noticed we were a couple of minutes over our 2-hour-parking limit.  He was preparing to write out a ticket as we returned to the car, and of course offered no grace in the matter even though we were THERE and intending to leave.  We were lawbreakers – by two lousy minutes. And so were issued a fine.

It was an interesting day on several fronts, and yet I am exhausted and glad to be out of White Knuckle Zone.  It’s an intense place for those who are younger and more vivacious than Old Fogies from the boonies.

Thanksgiving Preparations

Our Thanksgiving celebration will be both atypical and traditional this year, and this afternoon I did some preliminary planning and contemplating. Let me explain.

At noon on Thursday, we will serve our two local grandchildren a private Thanksgiving kid-feast: a tiny Cornish game hen (cute!), roasted asparagus (a favorite of the three-year-old), carrot sticks and bite-sized broccoli with Ranch dressing (the must-have raw veggie entrée), various fresh fruits (the 18-month-old will probably pig out on the grapes), and homemade rolls (a sure winner even if they turn up their noses at everything else).  The little girls will perch in miniature chairs next to a tiny, low-to-the-ground table draped with an equally small tablecloth.  We (their parents and grandparents) will serve the two blonde princesses their holiday meal.

Then the girls will both go down for a nap, and the mood of the house will suddenly grow q-u-i-e-t ….sssshhhhh!! We adults will speak in hushed tones (at least initially), turn on soft background music, and set the old oak table with fine china, silverware, and wine goblets.  I’ll light the candles on either side of a fresh flower arrangement and tend to last-minute food prep, while a team of turkey carvers plug in the electric knife and dismember the big bird.  My emerging menu is as follows:

Turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy,  green bean casserole (“Not Your Mama’s Green Bean Casserole,” a from-scratch version of the old canned mushroom soup and canned onion ring recipe), roasted brussels sprouts/sweet peppers/mushrooms, broccoli salad, mixed fresh fruit, homemade rolls, pumpkin pie AND a cream-cheese-stuffed pumpkin roll.  Goodness.  All this for just FOUR of us! 

But my current preparations aren’t only about compiling a grocery list, gathering recipes, pre-planning what dishes to use, and anticipating an outlay of time, money, and energy. I’m also contemplating the blessings of home, family, friends, beauty, work, rest, and provisions of both needs and wants, as well as inner blessings: emerging passions and talents; lessons learned and second chances; ongoing challenges and insights. I’m preparing my heart to give thanks for the inevitability of change that stretches and teaches me what it means to live with radical hope in a God who demands unwavering allegiance – a God who instills real joy as I learn to commit to Him.

A Very Good Friend

On the way home today I toured our old neighborhood and drove by our old property before stopping in to visit a close friend – actually, an adopted almost-family member who rented our big barn and expansive pasture for 30 years.  When we moved to our old farmhouse with 25 acres in 1980, he was a similarly-aged bachelor farmer just down the road who became a surrogate brother for us and surrogate uncle for our kids – one who shared every Christmas morning, every school program, and many other “family” events.  He was our annual Easter Bunny. Our encourager, helper, and companion.  But more than all of that, he was simply one of us.

It was good to see him and catch up.  We stood in his garage, leaned against his pick-up truck, and exchanged news. The years have rolled by, and we’ve been gone from his everyday life for 18 months.  But not much has changed between us.  We still are bonded by virtue of having shared so much life, and know the reality of deep caring and commitment.  How fortunate we are to have such a very good friend.

Special Times

I decided to document a few stand-out memories of the past several days.

When I visited my old bakery business (now in its third ownership since I sold it in 1999), I was greeted warmly: “OH! So YOU’RE Beth?  I’ve heard SO MUCH about you!”  It was humbling to be spotlighted as a celebrity from the past!  I was glad to see the business was thriving, but also identified the cost: the owner confessed that weariness had become a lifestyle.  I pledged to encourage her long-distance via email, especially as she launches the (insanely busy) holiday season.

My best friend from first through twelfth grade met me for a mid-morning brunch.  She said, “We sure get down to the bottom line, don’t we?”  Yep.  We have a sturdy historical base, and an ongoing relationship that never stops building on that foundation!  I am fortunate to have her in my life.

At one point I stopped to consult with a local artist who had done beautiful work for me in the past, and he congenially agreed to remediate a couple of pieces of needy jewelry.  As usual, conversation launched from official topics like gold, gems, and settings to other important things like his 20-old-turtle that needed cataract surgery, and his tiger cat that had recently recovered from extensive dental work.  I felt like I’d received a down-to-earth tutorial in mercy.

Although my original BSF class of 200+ has now swollen to include over 400 women, I enjoyed reconnecting with a few old friends at this week’s session.  Afterwards I lunched with one of them at a hometown-favorite-restaurant - just plan FUN.

Every once in a while an atypical opportunity jumps out of hiding offering fresh inspiration.  Such was the case during an encouraging encounter with a delightful English teacher (originally) who became a Lutheran pastor (for 14 years) and then an Orthodox priest (for the past 11 years).  A fascinating individual!

Finally, I met with two long-time girlfriends in a semi-swank restaurant for late night soup, wine, and catching-up.

Tomorrow morning I will drive the 3+ hour trip back home.  I've been enlarged and filled with endearing memories, and am grateful.

Artificial Prosperity

Ornament-studded plastic Christmas garlands hung overhead as I strolled the mall this afternoon.  Some of the artificial holiday do-dads seemed especially excessive, as if desperately attempting to fabricate a festive mood (and encourage spending) well in advance of the season. 

I noticed people as I walked.  A blank-faced sales clerk in a temporary booth robotically shoved chunks of deep-fried food from a Styrofoam clamshell box into his mouth.  A bent-over mother plodded along as if encumbered by transparent chains, pushing a stroller holding a screaming, thrashing toddler.  An limping older man with a cane struggled to keep up with a seemingly impatient female companion.

Bass-intense music with an addictive beat blared from a certain store.  As I approached, a hard-faced woman wearing black lace hosiery and a tight black skirt rushed out its door tapping her high-heeled shoes with staccato precision.  She could have been in her 40’s, although her appearance mimicked someone much younger. A rough-looking teenaged boy with long greasy hair leaned against the storefront’s window featuring oversized pictures of sultry-looking, scantily-dressed females.  He half-stared and half-scowled at the woman as she clipped along with her large bag of purchases.

PVC Christmas trees wearing fake snow stood like icons of superficiality encircled by a low white picket fence made of plastic.   Every jam-packed store boasted incentives: two-for-one, half-price, everything in the store on sale.  A few clerks, trained in relational etiquette, offered assistance through Cheshire-cat smiles. Many shoppers seemed not to notice or care about any of this, but appeared to be preoccupied and disconnected.

I left the mall feeling shell-shocked, as if temporarily swallowed up by a façade of well-practiced consumerism.  Although appearances painted a picture of abundance and prosperity, a certain hollow quality - perhaps numbness - infused the mall today.

Exploring Deep Places

Today, while visiting our old hometown, I reconnected individually with three different friends for an average of 2-3 delightful and inspiring hours each. It was almost like I’d never even moved away, for in each case we picked up right where we’d left off months before. Each woman reminded me of virtues - among them, right perspective from Ellen in the morning, honest self-evaluation from Linda at noon, and ongoing perseverance from Kathy in the evening.

I feel safe with such people who tend to spill the beans, and less safe with others who protectively nail down the lid on their hearts.  I suppose this is because I value transparency, and find it a freeing example that invites me to be real as well. 

It seems curious that a mysterious “connection factor” exists in some relationships (sometimes even on the first meeting) but not in others.  What enables two individuals to open up and share deeper thoughts and feelings?  Is it personality, temperament, or a matter of practiced behavior? 

There seems to be a bottom line: trust.  We must trust each other. It struck me today that this is a relational quality I want to cultivate, and that casting off the shroud of self-protection and connecting with others - like Ellen, Linda, and Kathy - begins with entrusting my life to the Father who invented friendship and values relationship above all else.  Trusting Him.  

Today at the River

Our son’s country house lies in a quiet valley where deer roam freely and nature reminds us to slow down…..slooooow doooowwwwn. This afternoon we walked a half-mile or so from his house down the winding, walnut-grove-lined road to a destination point, and his golden retriever, Riley, accompanied us. 

We were greeted by a rain-swollen river, gurgling and churning with a swift current, and sparkling with blinding sun-glitter. Riley, being a water dog, took one look and without hesitation - spooosh - he was quickly submerged to his shoulders! 

We took turns throwing sticks for Riley to fetch; the current hardly deterred his swift, strong strokes in deeper water.  Finally, after a good swim-workout, he retreated to a patch of tall, dry grasses along the bank where he rolled and thrashed in wild abandon.

Meanwhile, the sun bathed our shoulders with unseasonal prickles.  It was good to be outside under blue skies, breathing fresh air - especially after receiving hard news that a friend back home was diagnosed with stage three (advanced, inoperable) lung cancer today.

We started back home, hating to bid the river good-bye, but grateful for a few moments of childlike abandonment with good companions: a playful dog, a beautiful river, and hope in a faithful God that promises not to fade. 

From Home to Home

Today I’m making a trip “home” to our ex-home-town of 30 years, where I will stay for a week.  Part of me wants to reconnect with old friends and familiar turf, while another part wants to stay right here in our snug-as-a-bug little house beside the cold-but-welcoming, white-capped lake.  I’ve re-rooted here.  This is home.

But nostalgia draws me, and once I get there I’ll have that, “I never want to leave” feeling all over again.  I’ll drive around town with a million memories pressing in, reminding me of how I belong by virtue of familiarity.  I’ll remember this store, that playground, the other restaurant.  I’ll revisit friends, some of whom I’ve known for decades.  I’m also planning to have lunch with a friend in a neighboring town I met in first grade a whopping 56 years ago.

At the end of the week I’ll return to my newer home, the one where promise predominates over memories.  I’ll gladly return and embrace the fact that life is not static, but a matter of ongoing progression toward so many things: new relationships and experiences as well as deeper faith, understanding, and hope.

Blog (hyphen or not) Worthy

According to the Urban Dictionary, “when something happens in your day that is worth mentioning on your blog (web log)” it is blog-worthy.

Blog-worthy.  An interesting word to add to other worthy words: seaworthy, blameworthy, newsworthy, praiseworthy, trustworthy – and let’s not forget unworthy. But these others are not hyphenated.  Why does blog-worthy include a hyphen?

With a little help from Google, I learned blog-worthy isn’t always hyphenated.  In fact, there seems to be a controversy raging over whether to hyphenate this “urban” word or not.  Without the hyphen, it seems more formal, almost like a surname: Sir Blogworthy.  With it, the word fits nicely with computer slang: Btw peeps, this post is hardly blog-worthy – lol.

According to the Oxford Dictionary (at the other end of the spectrum from the Urban), hyphens are falling out of favor but SHOULD be used to link compound words, particularly compound adjectives. We accept the hyphens in sugar-free, power-driven, bad-tempered, accident-prone, and quick-thinking – so why not blog-worthy?  Perhaps because all those other compounded “worthy words” (newsworthy and etc.) lack a hyphen?   

I, for one, will cast my vote for blog-worthy WITH the hyphen.  I just like the way it looks.

Soup-A-Thon

At noon today, a self-imposed race began.  How much could I accomplish in the kitchen in four hours?

On your mark…get set…GO!

Off and running…chopping veggies…boiling beans in this pan, rice in that one…baking squash…opening cans of tomatoes and sauce…peeling shrimp!

Round the first bend….big pot of jambalaya done!

Second bend…big pot of vegetable-lentil soup done!

Third bend…big pot of butternut squash soup done!

Coming down the home stretch…big pot of vegetarian spaghetti sauce done!

Much later, after dinner, I made 3 1/2 dozen 100% whole wheat crescent rolls……..and (hooray!) they’re all DONE!

Whew.  It was definitely a soupy kind of day around here - with a little bit of bakery-iness thrown in.  The smells have been intoxicating - mmmmmmmm.